A day on extreme hazard

6:45

Wake up…

7:00

Okay, now wake up…

7:15

Seriously. You need to get up now.

7:30

Get startled awake by announcement that the dispatch room is open for the day. Realize you have 15 minutes to get up, get dressed, let the dog out, pee, get into your harness, climb up the tower, and report your morning weather. Do all of these things. Very quickly. Vow to wake up even five minutes earlier tomorrow (spoilers: it doesn’t happen).

7:39

Pat the dog, Clip the fall arrest onto the cable. Text your neighbouring tower that you’re headed up. Start climbing the tower. Get winded 15 feet up. Check your watch. Realize you have three minutes to get up before the first tower starts reporting their weather. Estimate you have five minutes before you need to report your weather. Start scanning the clouds half way up, pretending that you’re doing it to be diligent and not because your entire body is sore from climbing. Wonder how many times you’ve climbed the tower already. Wonder if you’ll ever be able to climb the whole thing without being out of breath. Check your watch again. Panic. Climb much faster. Hit your knee. That’s going to bruise.

7:43

Ram your head through the trap door just as the first tower starts reporting their weather. Scan the sky to estimate cloud coverage. Peak through your binoculars in all four cardinal directions to estimate your visibility. Take a moment to absorb the morning view. Tune in just in time to realize you’re up next. Push to talk. Accidentally say “good afternoon” instead of “good morning”. You’re probably going to think about that for the next hour. Get through the rest of your report. Climb down.

7:48

Gulp down water. Pat the dog again. Toss your safety harness inside. Grab bear spray. Pick up dog and carry him over the electrical fence. Run after him as he starts booking it down the road. Take photos of any new flowers that have bloomed over night. Search through your brain for the name of said flowers from your boreal field courses. Give up and call everything Lily-of-the-Valley and Arnica. Notice new bear prints. Double check that the dog is still close by. Start heading back when you hit the main road or when you start feeling awake. Whichever comes first.

Feed the dog and fill his water bowl. Cook breakfast, cook your lunch, and check your emails simultaneously. Accidentally burn or spill at least one thing. Fill your big pot with water from the rain barrel so you can finally shower (you are very greasy).

Eat your breakfast and text your mom photos you took of flowers. She’s also going to call them all Lily-of-the-Valley. Brush your teeth. Pack up your lunch. Try not to fall asleep while you’re sitting on the couch.

8:55

Clip your lunchbox and daybag to the pulley. Pat the dog again. Awkwardly get back into the harness. Text your neighboring tower a bunch of cat emojis and let him know you’re headed up for the day. Climb slowly. Stop half way to “enjoy the view”. Actually use that time to catch your breath. Hit your knee again (ouch). Push your way through the trap door again. Stash the harness in the bottom shelf. Start blasting Slumber Party by Ashnikko on the speaker. No one’s here so they can’t judge you. Sing along obnoxiously while you pull your lunch up. Enjoy the pain of at least four static shocks generated from hauling up the rope.

9:00

Start your morning observations. Turn on an episode of Ologies. Scan the sky. Enjoy the soothing sound of Alie Ward calling herself your dad. Scan the sky. Laugh at all her dad jokes because you have been seriously deprived of social contact. Scan the sky. Feel a little bit sad. Skan the sky. Use half your daily data limit watching Tiktoks to try and produce a tiny bit of serotonin and forget how alone you are. Scan the sky. Realize how much data you have used and hide your phone behind your radio. Scan the sky. Start reading your book. Scan the sky.

12:30

Tune back in from reading to prep for your afternoon weather report. Record the cloud cover. Admire how fluffy all the cumulus clouds are. Think back on the weather unit from grade ten biology class. Start humming along to a rap you wrote for that class on orographic lift. Resume your weather report prep. Scan the sky for visibility. Check any suspicious areas for smoke only to see the same few deceiving cut blocks and buildings.

13:00

Report your afternoon weather. Say good afternoon at the appropriate time now. Eat your lunch too quickly. Scan the sky. Blast music so you don’t fall asleep. Scan the sky. Start reading your book again. Scan the sky. Take a dance break because you almost fell asleep again. Scan the sky. Eat a snack. Scan the sky. Pee in a bucket. Scan the sky. Check the wind direction and toss pee from the bucket so that it doesn’t splash on the picnic table or the ladder. Scan the sky. Think fondly about when you’ll have indoor plumbing again so that you can stop peeing in a bucket and tossing it out your window. Scan the sky. Take two dozen photos of any remotely interesting looking cloud. Scan the sky. Send the picture of the cloud to all of your friends even though they didn’t respond to any of the last eight cloud photos you sent them. Scan the sky. Call anyone who is willing to make time to chat because you haven’t had a conversation with anyone except the dog (and he’s not much of a conversationalist). Scan the sky.

19:00

Say good evening to everyone over the radio during evening check-in. Pray that you’ve somehow been miraculously bumped down to low hazard even though it’s been hot and dry all day. Accept that you’ll be on extreme hazard again tomorrow. Thumbs up the text from your neighboring tower that’s just a bunch of crying face emojis. Appreciate the solidarity of suffering through long days together. Return to reading, listening to podcasts, or dance breaks - whichever one makes time pass the fastest.

20:00

Attach lunchbox and daybag back onto the pulley. Slip into harness again. Text your neighboring tower to say you’re headed down. Include a bunch of exclamation points because you are incredibly excited to be back on the ground. Climb down. Manage to somehow hit your knee for the third time today. Have a mini dance party with the dog. Pull down all your stuff from the pulley.

Change into comfy pants. Grab bear spray. Carry dog over fence once more. Walk half way down the quad trail, and while you’re examining some new prints, hear some very loud rustling from further down the trail. Call the dog and book it up the trail as fast as possible. Turning back every once in a while to make sure there isn’t a bear on your heels. Return to yard sweating and exhausted. Carry the dog back over the fence. Decide it’s a good time to trim your hair and use the selfie camera on your phone as a mirror. Check an actual mirror and realize that your phone was not a very good mirror. Remind yourself that no one besides you will see your questionable haircut anyway. Boil another big pot of water for your shower.

21:00

Microwave one of the two dozen frozen burritos you meal prepped the last time you were on low hazard. Thank Low Hazard Angel for the beautiful gift of cheesy burrito. Pan fry it so it’s crispy. It’s way too hot but you HA SHWA SHWA SHWA your way through it in less than two minutes anyway. Drink so much juice because you’re pretty much dehydated every day and never remember to drink water. Pour your cold water from this morning into the shower bag and then add the hot water until you’ve hit the perfect temperature ratio. Never actually hit that ratio and always end up with a shower that’s slightly too hot or slightly too cold. Stand on a chair and struggle to hang the very heavy shower bag from the ceiling. Enjoy your mediocre slightly too hot or slightly too cold shower while hunched over on a stool, because the shower bag hangs too low for you to stand. Get dressed in pajamas that seriously need to be washed soon. Don’t end up washing said pajamas for at least another week because you never have time, and when you do end up having time, it’s pouring rain and you have nowhere to dry your laundry. Try to read your book again, but get too exhausted. Scribble a few sentences in your journal. Try to fall asleep but can't because it’s too bright out. Sleep like a log.